


This is a Gift

by QuickLikeLight



Series: Ordinary People [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Parenthood, Pregnancy, holiday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/pseuds/QuickLikeLight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg & Molly attend another holiday party, this time with an extra special gift to share. Er. Unintentionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is a Gift

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a part of Ordinary People, though it was not a part I was planning to write for a long time. However, tumblr user [moriartys--fairytale](http://moriartys--fairytale.tumblr.com/) sent me an askbox prompt that totally put me in this headspace and wouldn't let go. FTR, I totally reserve the right to re-write this when we get there. :P  
> So, for those of you who've been waiting for an Ordinary People update, I hope you'll be happy that this is the direction we're generally heading. Don't worry: there are many adventures between the NSY Holiday Party and Molly being Huge Pregnant. ;)
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so if there are any issues, please feel free to let me know. As always, find me on [tumblr](http://anneincolor.tumblr.com) for fic updates, fandom flailing, etc.

They hadn’t been at the party long. Really, it had been just enough time for Greg to scorch the roof of his mouth on Sherlock’s too-sweet mulled wine, say something vaguely insulting to Mycroft Holmes on accident, and be completely embarrassed by Mrs. Hudson’s not-so-subtle hints about what John and Sherlock had been up to with the Christmas star earlier that day. Greg staunchly refused to sit on the sofa; John may have some sense of decency, but Sherlock definitely did not, and there was no way he was going near that hotbed of sexual activity, even if Mrs. Hudson _had_ thrown a nice blanket over it. Instead, he stood resolutely near the door, surveying his hosts’ small collection of friends: Mycroft and his assistant (terrifying woman, that, even if she did have amazing legs), Philip Anderson and his wife, Mrs. Hudson, Sarah Sawyer and her husband Jack, Mike Stamford, and Molly.

“No Sally tonight, then?” John asked, topping off Greg’s just-cooled mug with more hot wine. Greg grimaced but sipped politely anyway, hoping that eventually he’d succeed in just burning his taste buds off. No luck thus far.

“She’s working with Dimmock tonight, since he’s covering for me. Said to send you her love, and to tell ‘that poncy bastard Happy Christmas’ for her,” Greg grinned, remembering the face Sally had made when he’d extended John’s invitation. Send her love indeed.

“Molly looks well,” John thoughtfully changed the subject, no doubt understanding the full extent of the vulgarity Greg had omitted from Sally’s message. Greg smiled and John matched it, the secret smile of two men who were immensely, immeasurably, and inconceivably happy with their respective lots in life, as they looked toward the fireplace. Molly sat in Sherlock's armchair, relaxed and happy, while the rest of the party drifted around her, offering her little treats from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen and cups of hot spiced cider that brought a flush to her face. Sherlock perched on the arm of her chair, bony frame curling up and around her shoulder as they examined print outs of the ultrasounds she’d had taken at her last appointment.

 _How did I get so lucky?_ Greg thought, admiring the play of firelight over her hair and skin. Another Christmas party, several years before, suddenly struck his memory and for a moment he saw Molly as she had been: beautiful and sweet in a black dress and red lipstick, there to stand up for her heart to a man who'd then been considered heartless. He'd been surprised by the trimmings of her holiday outfit, sure, but that wasn't what had won him over. Greg was surrounded by beautiful women, at the Yard, at home, moving in and out of his life like brilliant fireflies, offering light and warmth but never constancy.

Molly, though. She'd been different from the beginning. Brave and smart and so strong, keeping Sherlock's secrets as well as keeping him in line. A constant companion, devoted in a way Greg had never experienced. It had made his heart ache to watch her, to know that they both orbited Sherlock like the sun, but were still often left in the cold.

And then the Yard Holiday party had happened, after Sherlock’s return, and it had been better than he could have hoped. That emerald dress still hung in the back of their closet, a quiet reminder of the night they fell together after everything had seemingly fallen apart. And now... now, unbelievably, she was _his_ constant, his companion, and he was hers. Their collective ownership of one another made his throat tight, and he took another drink of much-too-hot wine to soothe it.

"Any day now, yeah?" John interrupted his thoughts, nodding toward Molly. The swell of her belly under a pink knit dress filled Greg’s stomach with butterflies.

"Was actually due four days ago," Greg smiled, "but she says it isn't time yet."

"First pregnancies generally go longer than forty weeks," John nodded, obviously trying to put him at ease. It was unnecessary. Greg had been ready to be a father his entire life, but every day they spent just being them, Greg and Molly, together, was a gift. He wouldn’t will the time away.

The stroke of a bow over violin strings cut off any further conversation as Sherlock struck up a lively rendition of "Carol of the Bells." Molly watched him, enraptured, but no longer the lovelorn woman of those Christmases before. She watched with a fond look, a look of deep, lasting love and compassion, of friendship unrivaled. And then she turned to Greg.

Before he even recognized the expression on her face he was pushing his mug into John’s hand and moving across the room toward her.

“Molls, what is it? What’s wrong?” his voice sounded strange in his ears, like he was hearing it through the wall. He watched as a dark stain spread over her lap, slowly turning the bright pink dress to a royal fuchsia. Her face was a study in expressions: relief, disgust, happiness, a twinge of discomfort, sheer naked embarrassment.

“I think we should be going now, Greg,” she said quietly, moving to try to stand. Greg placed his hands on her shoulders, carefully holding her in her seat.

“Uh, John? Could you…?”

“Course,” John was already standing next to the chair, taking Molly’s pulse and checking her visually. “Any pain, Molly? Contractions?”

“She’s been contracting for days now-”

“Greg, could you go with Sherlock to get some towels, and a set of my pajamas please? I think I’ve got something in there that should fit,” John winked at Molly, cutting Greg off completely. As Sherlock hurried him out of the room, Greg overheard Molly laughing uncomfortably.

“He’s just very nervous-”

“Five minutes apart or less?”

“Probably around six, but maybe…”

“Gilbert, get a hold of yourself before you hyperventilate and John is forced to hold Molly’s hand during delivery,” Sherlock thrust a pair of stretchy cotton pajamas into Greg’s arms as he spoke, voice cold and demeaning.

“You complete tosser, you know my name!” Greg sputtered, rage heating his face, displacing all his other feelings.

“Of course I do, _Greg_ ,” Sherlock sneered, pushing him back out of the little room that held John’s clothing and a very unused bed. “But now, instead of being scared for your wife, the death of your personal life, the future of your career, and how much you will undoubtedly ruin your forthcoming child, you are angry at me, and not even truly angry, so you are welcome, and now please get your wife to the hospital.”

Greg felt himself gaping, knew he must look like a fish out of water, but no one paid him any mind. Molly lumbered over to him with John hovering near her elbow - just in case - and took the pajamas.

“It’s alright love. I’ll just go clean up, yeah? And then we’ll go. You just drink some of that nice mulled wine and relax.” Molly winked at him conspiratorily just as Mrs. Hudson thrust a piping hot mug into his hand.

Greg took a large swallow. He barely noticed the burn.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback is valuable to all fic writers, and I'm no exception. If you enjoyed this story, please let me know.
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://quicklikelight.tumblr.com).


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